Point Blank (Love Undercover Book 6)

by LK Shaw

  Shit, how was I going to explain why I was wearing Oliver’s clothes? “I got them at the thrift store,” I said, trying to think of something fast.

  Her side eye was a thing of legend, and she used it on me. “Of all the clothes at the thrift store, women’s clothes, mind you, and you come back here, barefoot, with something from the men’s section? Do you really expect me to buy that bullshit you’re trying to sell?”

  “What?” I shrugged. “They were comfortable. I wanted something I could relax in.”

  “Then you could have bought something two sizes too big in the women’s section. You still didn’t answer my question about where you’ve been. No one has seen you, and Pete said you haven’t shown up to work all week. I thought you were dead.” She sniffled the last, her words soft, but with a hint of accusation.

  “I’m sorry, Shan. I just needed to get away for a little while, you know.”

  Her stare focused in hard on me, and I struggled to maintain eye contact, and not squirm under her steely gaze.

  “Keep your secrets, young lady. I know you’ll share them if you want to. In the meantime, I assume you’re back for a while?”

  I was grateful for her understanding. I didn’t know if or when I would be ready to talk about what happened, but she would be the first person I’d spill to if the time came.

  “Yes, ma’am. I also need to see if there have been any new job postings go up.”

  Shan sighed and tried to hide her disappointment, but failed. Holding down a job had been one of the hardest things for me, and here I was looking for another despite having one that had seemed to be working well the last time she saw me. Of course she suspected that once again it had been my issues—anger, mostly—that were the problem. Unless I wanted to share my horrific experience over the last week, then I’d have to let her continue to believe it, no matter how much it chafed. This time it actually wasn’t my fault.

  “Check the bulletin board,” she said. “I’m not sure if anything new has been posted or not.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.” I raised my paper bag like a shield. “I need to get this stuff washed.”

  I moved toward the laundry room, but I paused and turned back toward Shoshana. “I don’t suppose my clothes are still here?”

  She sent me a sympathetic look. “I saved as much as I could, but after you were gone for more than two days, they went into the community bin. They didn’t last long. I have a small bag at home that I can bring back in a couple days.”

  A grateful smile tipped my lips up. “You’re the best. Thank you for being such a great friend.”

  “You’re a sweet young lady who’s been dealt a shit hand at life, Charity. I’m glad to help in any way I can.”

  I sent her another warm look and continued to the laundry room to wash my stuff. There wasn’t any point wasting a whole load of laundry for a couple items, so I’d hand wash everything at the industrial sink. I pulled out my second-hand shirt and jeans. I reached back in the bag, and under my fingertips, I felt the soft fabric. I clutched my fist around the item and lifted it out.

  Those stupid, fucking yellow socks that I kept being so proud of. I couldn’t believe I was so hung up on them. It was sad, really. I glanced down at my feet and the socks Oliver had loaned me. Black, ankle length, and athletic. Like the kind guys wear with tennis shoes. Several sizes too big, of course. It seemed almost more intimate to be wearing his socks than it did his t-shirt and shorts.

  Oliver. Just the thought of him left me conflicted. I knew he’d help me. Keep me safe. I was both disappointed, and equally pissed, at how wrong I’d been. I reached into my pocket and brought out the card he’d given me. I stared down at his name, rubbing across each letter with a fingertip. Stop being ridiculous. With a sigh of disgust, I crumpled the card in my fist and tossed it in the trash before focusing on finishing my laundry. I needed to put him completely out of my mind. I would put him out of my mind.

  Chapter 7

  After leaving Charity at Brenda’s House, I’d shifted my focus to Los Lobos and making sure that all the evidence I’d collected while undercover within the gang was in perfect order to take them down.

  Cap was practically having kittens. He hated when busts went wrong, especially if it led back to one of his team members fucking something up. I’d spent far too much time pretending to be a loyal member of Los Lobos that I wanted everything to go smoothly as well.

  Based on the evidence I’d gathered, the D.A. had submitted requests for additional arrest warrants for a dozen more members within the gang, and they were being rounded up. Already they’d started turning on each other. If we were successful, this bust could rival the top takedowns in the city in the last decade.

  Other evidence being examined included several photos of Ricardo Morales, known as El Diablo, allegedly murdering Emilio Salazar, leader of the Sinaloa Cartel. The two had formed an alliance to take control of the local drug trade. Except it appeared that alliance had been broken by the help of Maria Luis Valesquez, half-sister of the dead cartel leader, and the one who’d put the hit on her brother. Pablo’s contact at the D.E.A. said they were all scrambling to figure out where exactly she was and what her plan was. She was a ghost.

  I should have been celebrating our team’s success. Instead, my thoughts were elsewhere. Haunted, ocean-blue eyes were always at the forefront of my mind. I hadn’t expected Charity to call me, yet I checked my messages frequently, just in case. Each day I’d continued to worry about her. It wasn’t like me. I didn’t like entanglements. Complications. If there was one thing Charity was, it was most definitely a complication. Why did I even care that she hadn’t called? It was a good thing.

  She was just another random vic. Her showing up at the precinct to find me was a giant red flag. Yet my mind drifted to her far too often for my comfort. I kept remembering the look of utter betrayal that had flashed my way when I’d left her at Brenda’s House.

  That had been a week ago.

  Stop thinking about her.

  My phone rang, and a rush a relief swept over me. Anything to take my attention off unwelcome thoughts. I glanced at the caller ID before swiping to accept the call.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Oliver, my boy. How has my favorite son been?” A belch followed the question, and I sighed. Of course he was already drinking. Or most likely, still drinking. He usually started his morning with a beer and kept going until it was time to go to bed. The next day, the routine began again. It had been that way for as long as I could remember. My dad—the functioning alcoholic.

  “I’m your only son, and I’ve been fine. Just finished working on a big case.” Why did I have to add that? My career choice had always been a point of contention between us. I’d looked up to my dad my whole life, even if I didn’t want the same occupation. It had been just him and me since I was four years old and my mother walked out on us.

  “Yeah, yeah. When are you going to give that thankless job of yours up? I keep telling you that you need to come work for your pops. After a long day on the job, you and I could head out to one of the local bars and pick us up some fine little fillies to fuck.” He laughed at his play on words. “Show ‘em a good time before sending them back out to pasture.”

  “I happen to enjoy my job, as thankless as it might seem to you. We’ve talked about this. I need a lot more action and adventure than hanging around at a construction site all day.”

  “Manual labor builds constitution, son. I don’t know how much action you get sitting behind that desk of yours filling out reports all the time.”

  This was nothing I hadn’t been hearing since I went to college to earn my criminal justice degree. Nearly every conversation was exactly the same. I explained that there was a lot more to my job than just paperwork, but he never listened.

  “Was there something you wanted?” I redirected the conversation.

  “Can’t your old man just call to say hello every once in a while? Why do you always think I want
something?” he grumbled.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Because every time you call you want something.”

  “That’s not true. What about the time I called to tell you about that twenty-year old I banged after the Cubs game? Damn, I swear I almost had a heart attack that night. Natasha. Natalia. Natalie. Whatever her name was, she was nearly insatiable. Tightest pussy I’d had in months. That’s why I like those college-aged girls. Just goes to show your old man’s still got it.”

  I’d heard this story more times than I could count. I’d always been a little bit in awe of my dad and how well he played the game. He’d turned fifty-eight this year, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at him. Despite his propensity for beer, the man took care of himself.

  “Yes, Dad, you still got it.” My words fell flat, though.

  There was something different with this telling. This time, hearing it almost made me cringe. What the hell was wrong with me? This was my father. The man who raised me. Who I’d admired my whole life. I shook off the unsettled feeling. Maybe I was just tired. I hadn’t been sleeping well ever since I last saw Charity. Was she okay?

  “Oliver, are you listening to me?”

  Shit. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

  “That’s not like you,” he said.

  “I just have a lot going on right now, Dad.”

  “So much that you can’t have a conversation?”

  It really wasn’t much of a conversation. Like usual, it was me listening while he regaled me with various stories of his latest conquests, the constant attempts to recruit me to come work for him, followed by him asking me for…something.

  “I’m sorry, but now isn’t a great time.”

  “Fuck,” my dad bit out.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “It’s a woman isn’t it?”

  I blinked. “What is?”

  “This whole distraction. Why you can’t talk to me. It’s because of some woman.” He said the last with disgust. I could almost picture his lip curl in a snarl.

  My face heated like a teenager caught looking at porn. “There is no woman, Dad,” I lied.

  “Bullshit,” he spat. “This is how it starts. They get your thoughts so tangled that you don’t know which way is up or down. They use every wile they have. Every trick to snare you in their trap. I fucking taught you better than this, Oliver. Women are commodities. They all lose their worth after a short time, so you trade it in for one with more value. No pussy is gold. Remember that.”

  “I know. I know.” He was right. Why settle for one meal the rest of my life when there was a smorgasbord out there just waiting for me to sample its different offerings?

  “Now, when are you and I going to go out for drinks? It’s been too long since you let me take you out. There’s this place I know where all the hottest girls like to hang out. You’ll have your pick.”

  I let him ramble on about the different girls he’d taken home from there until finally we set up a night that we’d go grab a drink together. For the first time, I wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Chapter 8

  “Have you even stepped outside since you’ve been back from wherever you disappeared to?”

  I glanced up from my seat in the cafeteria to meet Shoshana’s concerned gaze, closing the book I’d been reading but tucking my thumb between the pages to mark my place. “I hung out in the courtyard for a few hours yesterday and a couple days before that, thank you very much.”

  “And what about a new job?” she asked.

  My eyes darted away. “Not yet.”

  “Have you even started looking? You know that’s one of our requirements, Charity.” Shan’s tone was slightly scolding. She may mother hen us to death, but she was also a stickler for the shelter rules, no matter how difficult it might be for her to enforce them.

  “I’ll start this week,” I promised, trying to maintain eye contact. It wasn’t that I was lying. I was just…struggling a little.

  A lot.

  Again.

  Still.

  I wanted to work, but fear kept holding me back. I was nervous about leaving these four walls. Even during the day. What if someone from Los Lobos was trying to track me down and stop me from testifying? Which in and of itself was a terrifying prospect. Getting up in front of a court room and reliving what those monsters did to me.

  “You’re wearing his clothes again.”

  I stifled a groan. I’d rather talk about my lack of a job than about the fact I was wearing Oliver’s clothes. I threw out the same line from a week ago. “How many times do I have to tell you, I got them at the thrift store?”

  “Honey, you can tell me as many times as you think it’s going to take for me to believe you, but I’m still going to call bullshit.”

  God, she was so frustrating. So what if I was wearing Oliver’s clothes again? It wasn’t like I had much to choose from. Shan had brought a bag back from her house that contained two shirts and a pair of ripped and hole-y jeans, along with a single pair of underwear. Between those few articles, the outfit I’d gotten from the hospital chaplain, and the t-shirt and shorts from Oliver, my options were severely limited, so yes, I was wearing what he’d given me.

  “You’re annoying, you know that?” I glared at her, but she merely sent me a knowing smile.

  “Yet you still love me.”

  I harrumphed.

  “I bet he’s hot,” Shan continued. “You might as well just tell me about him. You’re going to spill it eventually. Why put us both through the torture of waiting?”

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell her. It was just that if I told her about Oliver I’d have to tell her how he and I met and about the week of hell that I wanted nothing more than to forget about.

  I’d woken up in the middle of the night on more than one occasion stifling my screams. My fourth bunkmate since I’d returned had already complained I was making too much noise at night, crying out, and she couldn’t sleep. I expected I’d be getting a fifth in the next day or so.

  “Hey, you okay?” Shoshana laid a hand on my arm, and I jumped.

  “Sorry, yeah, I’m fine.”

  She studied me with those knowing—seeking—eyes of hers and must have seen something in my features, because her face softened with regret. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. It’s really none of my business. If you don’t want to tell me, I understand. You know how I get at times.”

  I shouldn’t use her as my fill-in therapist, but maybe it would help to get it off my chest. Before I could stop myself I laid my book on the table and the story spilled out of me.

  “Two weeks ago, I was walking home from the diner after my shift. It was late—midnight, maybe one—and I hadn’t felt like waiting for the bus. Shit, sometimes it takes longer for the bus to get here than if I’d just walked.”

  Shan nodded in agreement. “It’s still a couple of rough neighborhoods you’re going through that late. I always worry about you when you do.”

  Until that night, I’d never given it another thought. I was used to the streets. I’d lived on them for two years. It wasn’t that I was blissfully unaware of the dangers that could befall unsuspecting victims. It’s just that I never thought I’d be one of them.

  “I guess you were right to be worried.” I gave a self-deprecating chuckle and small shrug as though what had happened to me wasn’t a big deal. I’d spent over half a lifetime compartmentalizing the bad shit that happened to me so I didn’t have to think about it.

  Shoshana covered her mouth with a fist, her eyes filled with horror, most likely imaging all the terrible things that could have, and most likely had, happened to me. “Oh, Charity.”

  Silence filled the air, neither of us seeming able to break it. I had to clear my throat before I could speak. “The bastards from Los Lobos had me for a week before the cops raided the house on a drug bust. There were five or six other women in the basement with me. I’m not sure since we were all”—I swallowed back the bile and co
uld still feel that collar tightening around my neck—“kept in different rooms. One of them died. At least I think she did. My Spanish is a little rusty. I guess I can count myself lucky in that regard.”

  Cautiously, Shan reached out again and clutched my hand in hers. “I’m sure it doesn’t mean jack, but I’m so sorry.”

  I nodded, wordlessly, my gaze still unfocused as the memories of my torment replayed inside my mind. With a shake of my head, I blinked, forcing them away. I pulled my hand out from under hers and fisted it with my other in my lap.

  “His name is Oliver.” The words tumbled out.

  Shan blinked at the change in topic. “Huh?”

  I tilted my head down, gesturing toward my outfit. “The clothes. They belong to a man named Oliver. He was the cop who found me. Rescued me. They’re his.”

  There were further questions in her eyes.

  “He stayed with me in the hospital for half the night. Keeping me sane, you know. And for the first time in years, I felt safe. After they discharged me, I went to the station house. I just knew that if I found him, he’d keep me safe. Stupid, huh?” I huffed out a mocking laugh.

  Shoshana knew bits of pieces of my past, not the worst of it, but enough to understand why I would track Oliver down.

  “It’s not stupid, hon. I can understand not wanting to experience that helpless feeling and reaching out to the person who makes it go away. I think it’s human nature to try and protect ourselves in any way we can,” she said.

  There was a part of me that knew she was probably right, but there was also that voice inside me that whispered about what a freak I was. An idiot. The same stupid child who clung to her mother, because mothers were supposed to protect their children. The door to the shelter opened, but I didn’t turn. I’d been avoiding useless chit chat with all the other residents since I got back. Not that I’d been much of a conversationalist before.